


The (Almost) Naked Truth

by Cerdic519



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cosplay, Dressing-gowns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:45:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Dean didn't know any different, he could have sworn a certain former angel was deliberately torturing him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Almost) Naked Truth

Looking back at the whole thing, Dean knew he had to have been blind not to have seen what was going on. It had all started not long after Cas' arrival at the Batcave, and a prolonged discussion between him and Sam. Neither would say what they had been talking about, and Dean had put it to the back of his mind when Sammy surprised him with an apple pie soon after. That really should have set alarm bells ringing, as Sam only fed him pie when he wanted to either distract him or talk about 'feelings'. His moose of a brother knew him too well.

 

The first time, Dean had gone to ask Cas if he wanted any breakfast, only to find the former angel's bed empty. To his eternal shame, he had bolted into his brother's room to tell him the little pest had gone again, only for Sam to calm him down and tell him a) to stop hyperventilating, and b) that Cas had taken up jogging, and always went out at this time. The knowing look on his little brother's face was something he could well have done without. 

Dean was frying bacon when he heard Cas come in the kitchen door and say hullo to them both. He grunted a greeting back, heaped the bacon on the plate, and turned round to put it on the table.

And damn near dropped the plate!

Cas was doing stretching exercises, one foot up on a chair, and sweat was running down his lithe body. Dean could see virtually every muscle standing out as he flexed, and damn, the former angel looked fine. Fortunately he was able to restrict his response to one hasty swallow, which he managed to turn into a cough. Though not quickly enough to prevent a knowing look from the moose across the table.

That was the first time.

 

The second time was when the bunker's air-conditioning, a temperamental beast in its own right, decided to go AWOL for a couple of days. Dean knew what was needed to fix it, but it required a part he had to order over the Net, so they were stuck with at least two days of sweaty discomfort. 

Dean, however, was the one most discomforted, because damn if that sneaky little angel didn't decide to hang out in a pair of impossibly short shorts. He did wear a running vest, but it was so hot that it ended up stuck to his body, leaving nothing to Dean's fevered imagination. And why was this the one time Cas had to be wherever he was? Watching TV, playing pool, even working on the Impala; the former angel would be nearby reading or researching something, and Dean's eyes kept being drawn to those blue shorts like an iron filing to a nearby magnet.

The long-awaited part finally arrived on Friday and the aircon was fixed, much to everyone's (and especially Dean's) relief. Though he could have done without Cas celebrating by coming into the kitchen whilst he was making lunch, and taking off his sweaty top so he could throw it into the laundry basket, then chatting to him whilst bare-chested. Hell, Dean was a man with needs, and not only were none of them being met, he was being constantly reminded of what he couldn't have. Life was so freakin' unfair!

That was the second time.

 

The third time came when Sam found a gym in one of the bunker's hitherto unexplored corners. Dean had thought nothing of it at the time, assuming that since the former angel ran for several miles every morning, he wouldn't want to add to his routine. So the elder Winchester took himself down there once a day to pummel out his sexual frustration on the punchbag. 

Except, of course, since he was Dean Winchester, he just could not catch a break. Cas somehow managed to order a rowing machine online, and when it came, Dean could not get into the gym without finding one extremely sweaty former angel inside, his top sticking to his supple body and his legs taut with effort. And he seemed to have somehow found a set of shorts which were even shorter, and which showed off his ass to perfection.

Worst of all, the gym had a small shower area, divided from the exercise equipment only by a semi-transparent partition wall. And Dean could see far too much through that wall, his imagination unhelpfully filling in the few missing details. As a result, he had to go and order a new punchbag. He'd destroyed the old one.

That was the third time.

 

The fourth time came because of the bath. Cas had found many parts of being human tough, but one of the things he loved was a long, hot bubble bath. And after one horrible moment which led Dean to give his Why You Always Lock The Bathroom Door When You're In The Tub Lecture (okay, perhaps not that horrible), the elder Winchester had been very understanding. Even when Sam had gone out for beer one night, and come back with what looked like three years supply of baths salts ('what're you planning to do, Sammy; froth some poor ghost all the way to the next world?'). 

It wasn't so much the baths Dean had trouble with as what came after. Cas had grown oddly attached to an old blue dressing-gown, and insisted on wearing it after every soak. The trouble for Dean was that the item in question was a very short old dressing-gown, and the former angel always seemed to be sitting directly in his line of sight when he was wearing it. Dean learned very quickly not to look up at these times, because it always led to him blushing like a schoolgirl.

He also learned very quickly that the old joke about angels being junkless was far, far, far from the truth.

That was the fourth time.

 

The fifth time arose because former angels apparently did not function until after their first caffeine injection of a morning. Sometimes not until after their second or third. The problem was that a non-functioning Cas tended to wander into the kitchen wearing nothing but the black Calvin Klein boxers he slept in. Having a hot almost naked former angel sat across the table was asking a hell of a lot of Dean's self-control. And Cas should not be allowed to bend over the freezer compartment like that! 

Cas actually caught him looking one time, and of course immediately asked if it was inappropriate for him to wear boxers in the kitchen. This was an excellent opportunity for Dean to remove one source of temptation from his vicinity by saying hell, yes, and put some damn clothes on! Instead, he told him it was fine. A-okay. Then he went off to his room and banged his head on the wall.

That was the fifth time.

 

It was the sixth time which finally broke Dean. Charlie had invited them all to a costume party; he and Sam were just off on a four-hour drive to sort out a wendigo, but he told Cas he should go, knowing his friend could be trusted to look after him. He also knew Cas was a bit depressed over not being allowed to go on the hunt (his shooting skills were still so bad; Sam had insisted they practise well out of range of the bunker), so Dean hoped this would buck the former angel up a bit.

The brothers didn't get back till the next morning, and were surprised to find Cas wasn't back either, though a phone message from Charlie told them he'd slept over at her place. Dean was cooking breakfast when he heard a slight cough from behind him (how come the little feather-ass was still able to appear in a room without making any noise?), and smiled.

“Breakfast's nearly ready”, he said, flipping the switch on the coffee-maker. “Enjoy the party?”

“I did, actually”, Cas said. “And Charlie said I could keep my costume.”

“What did you go....aaaah!”

Dean turned as he spoke, and nearly had a fit. Cas was dressed as Tarzan, though 'dressed' was perhaps over-stretching it a bit. That loincloth – what there was of it - was even shorter than Cas' short shorts.

“You went in that?” Dean almost yelled (it was definitely not a high-pitched shriek, even if it sounded like one).

Cas seemed surprised at his reaction. 

“Yes. Everyone seemed to like it.”

“I bet they did!”

Cas frowned.

“Is something wrong, Dean?”

Too much skin! Way too much touchable, beautiful skin! Want...

“You're virtually naked!”

“It's only a costume, Dean.”

“Yeah! But that.... handkerchief you're wearing, well, it's... it's....”

Cas did his head-tilt thing, looking genuinely confused.

“It is what, Dean?”

Something inside him finally snapped.

“You go on showing that much skin, and I'll have to jump you!”

Ye Gods, he had actually said that!

“Okay.”

Dean's eyebrows were last seen passing his hairline at warp speed.

“What?”

Cas sighed.

“I've been almost naked in front of you for weeks, Dean, and it's taken you this long to finally get round to doing something about it. I'll give you five minutes to sort out breakfast, then I'm changing from this into my normal clothes.” 

He headed for the door and, to the hunter's utter shock, the little bastard actually pinched his butt on his way out of the room!

 

Thirty seconds later, Sam Winchester found a note shoved under his door. It read 'cook your own damn breakfast, and avoid Cas' room for today unless you want to go blind.' He grinned. 

It had worked!


End file.
